Hear Me Roar
by Billy4Me
Summary: Challenge response. What happens when Grissom allows his emotions to get the better of him? GS


**A/N: **Response to a challenge issued on YTDAW. Story about Grissom and Sara's first kiss. Has to be in an odd place. Cannot be on a date. Cast includes Grissom and Sara only. No word limit.

This is my first attempt at a Grissom POV. Wow, he's a difficult character to write. Hope this turned out to be semi-believable.

**Spoilers: **Minor references to "Snakes" and "Nesting Dolls"

**Disclaimer: **I don't own _CSI:_, but I sure wish I owned Grissom. Does that count:-)

**Hear Me Roar**

_I am Gil Grissom. Hear me roar_.

Perhaps not as catchy as the original Helen Reddy version of that particular quotation, but it applies nevertheless. Especially on days like today.

There aren't many times that I let a case get to me. I mean, _really_ get to me. Over the years, I've learned to curb my emotions. Care too much, and the job will destroy you. Care too little, and you're unmotivated and ineffective. So you learn to care just enough because there's a fine line between emotional involvement and impartiality.

I've had a lot of practice walking that line… in every possible area of my life. And I'm exceptionally good at it. But I stepped way the hell over it today.

It wasn't really my fault, though, considering this case found me, rather than vice versa. I was just minding my own business in the cereal aisle at the grocery store. I always spend a lot of time in that particular aisle, arguing with myself over the merits of healthy versus appetizing. I know the bran cereals are what I should choose because more fiber in my diet is always a good thing, but I'll freely admit that I love Frosted Flakes. Hmm… what I need versus what I want. If that particular decision doesn't define my life, I'm not sure what does.

Just as I was reaching for the bran flakes, a woman came barreling down the aisle toward me. Her face was tearful, and she was near hysterics as she grabbed my jacket, pleading with me to help her find her son Damien. Years of training have given me a calm exterior, but my heart was pounding against my rib cage as I reached for my cell phone.

And it's continued that staccato rhythm ever since. Through the obscenity-laden tirade I leveled at Jim when he told me to stand behind the crime scene tape. Through the heated discussion with Catherine regarding my involvement in evidence collection. Through the overwhelming satisfaction when my fist met Conrad's jaw just after he told me I was off the case. And through Sara's wide eyes when I pointed a finger in her face and told her I trusted her to find that boy.

_I am Gil Grissom. Hear me roar_.

I don't know why those words keep coming to me, just like I don't know why I wound up here, in this place of the dead. I've never been afraid of cemeteries, but I've never frequented them either.

Maybe I should, though. It's peaceful here, quiet. The dead don't disturb. They don't rape and maim and torture and kill. And, at this moment, I don't know why people run past graveyards in terror. The dead are not to be feared. Only the living.

My heart is still pounding in my chest, and it reminds me that I am one of the living. I am one of those to be feared. I consider what I'm capable of, and it scares even me.

_I am Gil Grissom. Hear me roar_.

I shake off the thought as I stare at my surroundings. It rained yesterday, and Vegas has never handled it well. The water pools and seeps slowly into the hard-baked dirt, creating a muddy mess but never making a dent in the city's perpetual aridity. The ground here is soggy, the puddles collecting beside tombstones that proclaim the graves' occupants to have been beloved relatives who will never be forgotten. And I think about how hollow those claims sound as I lean against one neglected stone to strip off my shoes and socks.

I haven't walked barefooted through mud since I was a kid, and I'm surprised at how cool and soothing it feels as it oozes between my toes. A squishing sound ensues with each step, and my feet get darker every time they hit the ground, but my heart rate is slowly decreasing. And so I wander between the forlorn burial sites, seeking my own peace among the departed souls who have long since found theirs.

That's how Sara finds me. I'm sure I look like a lost child, and it occurs to me that I'm glad she figured out where I am. At least she's solved the mystery of one lost boy today.

"Hey," she says, and she approaches me slowly as if I were a caged animal that could bite. And, inexplicably, that sends me into a rage.

_I am Gil Grissom. Hear me roar_.

"What do you want, Sara? Did you come to tell me you found the boy? Dead, I'm sure. Maybe he was even molested before some animal took away the life of a three-year-old kid and destroyed his mother's existence?" My heart is racing again, and I can feel the blood rushing in my ears and the tightness constricting my chest. Maybe I'm having a heart attack. Maybe I don't care. To be dead is to be harmless.

"No." Her reply is soft but insistent, and she lays a calming hand on my arm. "I came to tell you we found him safe and sound. Damien's parents were in the middle of a custody battle, and his father abducted him. Thanks to the quick Amber Alert, we picked him up just as they were heading out of town."

The blood's still coursing through my veins in a rush, and the relief that washes over me mingles with it to make me lightheaded. I sway just a little bit, and Sara moves her hand up to steady me with a firm grip on my upper arm. "Whoa. Hey, sit down before you fall down."

She leads me to the closest tombstone, and I lean wearily against its solid coolness. My mind races with the events of the day. In the span of a few hours, I've gone through a gamut of emotions I didn't know I had. And now that the crisis has been averted, I realize the full significance of what I've done. I destroyed the few friendships I had with angry words, and I demolished my own career with one punch.

All the fight is gone from me now, and my head is suddenly too heavy to hold up, so I let it drop to my chest. Sara says nothing, only moves her hand to my back, where it makes gentle, repetitive circles.

I want to stay here in this place of life and death and Sara until I can no longer remember the existence of anything else. But reality cannot be avoided. It can only be faced and overcome. So I lift my eyes to hers and rise to the challenge. "How did you find me?"

She drops her hand from my back and grins at me. "You're not as observant when you're upset. Brass sent a black-and-white to tail you." When I look at her in surprise, she just shrugs and adds softly, "We were worried."

The plural nature of her response doesn't escape me, but I push back the emotion that wells up in me again, afraid I won't be able to control it. "We?"

She nods. "Brass and Cath were pretty much beside themselves when you tore out of there. Damien's mom was almost as worried about you as she was about her son. And I…" Her voice catches and trails off as she stares across the graveyard, and now my guilt is the strongest emotion of all.

_I am Gil Grissom. Hear me roar_.

"I'm sorry, Sara." This is why I don't show my feelings, why I hide behind walls of my own construction. The potential for harm is tremendous, and I have no idea how to repair all that I've damaged.

She looks at me, and the tears in her eyes force out my next words. "For everything."

My voice is less steady now, but I force myself to continue. I have to make her understand the depths of my regret. "I'm sorry I cursed out Brass. I'm sorry I yelled at Catherine. I'm sorry I destroyed two of my most treasured friendships because I couldn't control my emotions."

I'm on a roll now, and I couldn't stop if I wanted to. "I'm sorry I punched Ecklie. I'm sorry I enjoyed it when my fist connected with his face. I'm sorry I threw away the work that defines me for one fleeting moment of gratification."

I stand and face her so that she can see my body is saying the same as my words when I speak next. "I'm sorry I put all of this on you. I'm sorry all I ever seem to do is hurt you. I'm sorry I'm not the man you need for me to be."

She just stares at me, slack-jawed, and suddenly I'm spent. I lean against the headstone again and bring my hand up to rub it across my eyes. I thought confession was supposed to be good for the soul, but all I feel in mine is emptiness. One final thought occurs to me, and I voice it aloud before I can stop myself. "I'm sorry I was in that store today."

"I'm not." Sara moves fast and is standing in front of me before I have time to blink. "How dare you say that? If you hadn't been there, Angela Harris would have spent years, maybe even the rest of her life, hunting for a lost child. She's so grateful she asked me to give you a kiss as a reward from her next time I saw you."

"I'm sor-"

Sara cuts me off with one hand. "Do _not_ say it again, Grissom," she hisses angrily. "You didn't destroy your friendships. Brass and Catherine are worried sick about you, but they didn't want you to be even more mad at them. That's why I'm here instead of them."

She shakes her head at my expression, which is probably some mixture of shock and confusion. "You didn't lose your job either. Ecklie wasn't exactly happy that you decked him in front of a crowd of onlookers, but…" She looks at me, and I can't read her expression. She draws in a shaky breath and finishes, "Let's just say people went to bat for you."

Something about the way she says it strikes a chord in me, and I have to know. "What people?"

It's obvious she doesn't want to tell me, but I hold her gaze until she heaves a weighty sigh. "I told him if he fired you, I'd resign. So he agreed to a two-week suspension in exchange for your apology."

I blink owlishly at her, and she shrugs. "I figured it was the best leverage we had. Graveyard's already short on CSIs. He can't get rid of us both." The words are insouciant, but her expression is anything but.

"Oh, Sara…" My voice trails off as I stare at her, at this woman whose depth of character truly stuns me.

She smiles sadly. "Hey, I told you a while back about the reason I moved to Vegas. I couldn't just let that disappear." She looks away then and stares across the muddy expanse as she remarks, "Besides, I was only returning the favor."

Life goes on in the distance, but time stands still for us. Sara watches a faraway cloud, and I watch her. And it occurs to me that she responded to all of my apologies except the ones I made to her. All of the damages have been corrected except for those. And I'm the one who has to make those repairs.

_I am Gil Grissom. Hear me roar_.

It will take me years to fix all that I've done wrong and, even then, there are no guarantees. I'm aware of that. But I only know one way to begin.

"Sara," I say, and she turns to look at me. "Don't you owe me something?"

She narrows her eyes in perplexed surprise, and I continue before she can recover. "I want my reward."

I watch as a wave of understanding breaks over her face, and her smile mirrors my own as I reach for her hand to pull her to me. And it's a glorious feeling to whisper, "And I intend to collect," against her lips before I claim them with my own.

Famous quotations typically float through my head in abundance, but I can think of only one at this moment. And it's not even famous to anyone but me.

_I am Gil Grissom. Hear me roar_.

** The End**


End file.
